A Marked Man
by d8rkmessngr
Summary: This was a prompt from st xi kink comm: Five of Kirk's scars he didn't want to talk about, and the one time he told someone.


Warnings: implied past abuse, K/Mc

Author's Notes: Parts of this was inspired by inell's wonderful epic Men & A Motorbike. One scar in particular came from her. Thank you inell for your blessing!

* * *

**Five of Kirk's scars he didn't want to talk about, and the one time he told someone.**

* * *

**V. The Other Guy**

"Ouch."

Jim looked up at the comment and fought a grimace from breaking free. Cadet Rahkil, Ratkill, whatever, was staring at his bare back. More specifically, at the wing of his right shoulder blade. He turned back around because hiding it now would only make it more obvious.

Hand to Hand class was outdoors today and left them all sweaty, sweaty enough that Jim's black undershirt was soaked by the time he was done with demonstrations. He grabbed a shower, figuring he had enough time to change before Bones met him to grab lunch before their Xeno Political Science class.

Cadet Rahkil was also pulling out a clean shirt in the locker across from him. He now stared unabashed at what Jim knew was what looked like a pink, raised lightning bolt that followed the contours of his shoulder snaking to the small of his back. It felt like lightning too when Frank had swung the bottle down his back (why, he can no longer recall). It took too long before Jim was taken to a hospital and taken back home too soon for any dermal regenerator to erase the line. Jim suspected Frank liked looking at it from time to time to remember how big and powerful he was against a nine year old kid.

"That looked like it had hurt," Rahkil blurted out.

Rahkil was born on Hadston IV so the simple wisdom against staring had never been instilled in him. Twin moons left him with a permanent gray complexion which only served to make his overblown pupils look that much more shocked, that much more unnerving.

Jim shoved his arms deep into his locker. He wondered what the fuck was taking Bones so long.

"You should have seen the other guy," Jim said as light as he could muster as he yanked a fresh undershirt over his head.

Rahkil looked impressed when Jim faced him again. Of course he did. 'The other guy' was always far more exciting than 'drunken collision with a beer bottle'. Jim tugged his shirt straight, managed to slip back on his jacket despite missing the sleeves once or twice. The cadet stepped aside with a somewhat awed look on his face as Jim veered past. Jim was about to throw out a parting quip, maybe some bullshit about there being only four against one when a shadow blocked his escape.

"Bones!" Jim grinned at Bones's somber face. Too somber, in fact. Hm, probably had a bad day at the hospital. "Just in time! I'm starved!" He clapped a hand on Bones's shoulder, steering him out of the building. He could feel Rahkil's wide-eyed stare like a dagger tip digging into muscle and he tried not to look like he was rushing Bones out of the locker room.

* * *

**IV. Art Critic**

It looked like a white spiky bracelet coiled around the bony part of his ankles. It was only obvious up close so it didn't help when he hauled himself out of the pool, swung his legs over and nearly kicked Gaila in the chin.

"Jim!" Gaila's laugh always sounded way better than anything he has in memory. It was high, it was clean, no 'poor Jim' in it and so sober, the clarity of it is achingly sharp.

"Sorry," Jim quipped and he reached into the pool and scooped up a handful of water. With one easy swing, he let the water sail across the narrow strip of tiled space they were lying on.

"Dammit, Jim!" Bones bellowed because _he_ wasn't swimming, saw no reason to be swimming in the middle of the 'goddamn freezing, you're going to catch some disease' fall. But Bones came anyway to plant himself by Gaila and the sandwiches from the student dining area, sitting on top of Jim's roommate's bed sheet (man, Gary is going to be _pissed_) on the ground.

"Sorry," Jim snickered as he flopped down on his belly over the Starfleet-issued sheets. He shook his head, spraying Bones. Gaila squealed and swat him on his ass, light enough that Jim could pretend it was nothing. Bones glowered at him through a fringe of wet bangs that only made Jim grin and Gaila giggle.

"Aw, did I get your PADD wet?" Jim snorted. "You know, Bones, when I said we were going out to relax, I didn't mean study."

"Not all of us can study pissed drunk like you, Jim," Bones grunted. He wiped the screen dry with the edge of a sleeve of his worn sweatshirt, on him because he refused to walk around the middle of autumn in a t-shirt like Jim. "Come on, it's freezing out here and you promised me a burger if I came out with you two."

Jim sighed dramatically as he sat up. He pulled his knees in and grabbed his sneakers, not bothering with the socks because damp socks were the worst. He suppressed a shiver because, dammit, Bones was right, it _was_ getting cold.

"Only you have to be _bribed_ to get out of there to have fun, Bones," Jim mused out loud as he wiggled a foot into a shoe.

"If you call getting pneumonia fun," Bones retorted, eyes still glued on the passage of whatever Bones was studying, "then a burger isn't going to cut it."

"That's an interesting tattoo," Gaila noted suddenly.

Jim froze when an elegant green finger caressed a line he'd almost forgotten was there, faint but still high enough above his sneakers to be noticed. His toes on his left foot automatically flexed; from memory, from Gaila's light touch, Jim wasn't sure.

"Not a tattoo." Jim shrugged. Barbed wire around feet was never that elegant or that fucking artsy enough. He shoved his other foot into a shoe, harder than necessary but the pain wasn't enough to distract him from the fact Bones had lowered his PADD down now.

"Oh." Gaila, for all her great enjoyment of life and basic freedom, still remembered enough about her origins to realize scars and tattoos were only different from intent. One was left behind on purpose, the other was _also_ left on purpose, but by no choice of your own.

Jim realized the little pout Gaila was starting to have meant her laugh would be tainted all day, maybe even all year and he wanted, _needed_ to hear something that sounded good in his memory.

"There was this girl," Jim started. He grinned, then pretended to think. "Or was it _girls_? They were into a little knife play and—"

Gaila rolled her eyes and flicked water towards Jim, who retaliated with a big enough swat on the water that got even Bones soaking wet from head to toe.

It was worth the bitching Bones gave him all the way back to his dorm to change because no one noticed when Jim excused himself to use Bones's toilet to throw up.

* * *

**III. Manchild**

"...so his elbow just wallops me on the chin and all he could say is if my head had been arched ten degrees more to the right, I wouldn't have gotten hit!" There was a snort then a hiss. The complaint came out nasally due to the bloody nose.

"Ah damn, they should bar Vulcans from that class!"

Jim's mouth quirked as Gary Mitchell's arms flailed more wildly. Bones hopped back a step.

"This isn't Hand to Hand, Mitchell," Bones barked. He waved his tricorder at him as if he was going to clip him. He shot Jim an exasperated look, who shrugged from the biobed he sat on, waiting for Gary.

Gary grunted as he tipped his head back for Bones to check under his jaw.

"Ow," Gary whined as Bones probed the discoloring bruise with his thumb.

"Don't be a child," Bones muttered as he pressed on another spot. "Unfortunately for me, you'll live. Just some minor swelling. No signs of a concussion." Bones applied a little pressure and got a yelp. Gary reared back up on the bed.

Jim snickered. Gary gave as good as he got in the class but sometimes the guy had a really low pain threshold.

"Wait until it's your turn, Kirk," Gary grumbled. With his head tipped back, he didn't see Jim's glower.

"What do you mean _his_ turn?" Bones whipped his head around to glare at Jim. "What happened to you?"

"Ribs," Gary supplied helpfully (bastard), his head still tilted back. He winced as he gingerly touched his nose. "That Vulcan combat prodigy plowed an elbow in his ribs."

Jim narrowed his eyes at Gary but at Bones's look, Jim grinned sheepishly and rested a hand against his left side.

"He missed a movement and caught me offguard," Jim said and he tried to shrug but knew he came out lopsided. He edged away as Bones approached with intent and worse, a tricorder.

"And when were you going to say anything?" Bones griped as he batted Jim's hands away from his shirt.

Jim sat there, eyes fixed past Bones's ear. "He didn't do it on purpose," Jim muttered as he struggled off his top.

"Oh, that makes a possible rib fracture all the less painful, I suppose," Bones muttered as he curled a warm palm around Jim's left side. He squinted at the large purpling splotch just under his ribcage. "Any sharpness when you breathe? Pain when you move?"

"It's not a fracture," Jim scoffed. Rib fractures were like paper cuts: minor, but still hurts like hell. He never forgot what those felt made a face at Gary, who had the nerve to give him a baffled look.

"Oh, so you're not a cadet anymore, but a doctor?" Bones grumbled as he waved his scanner up and down Jim until the tricorder beeped. Bones frowned at the readout. His brow rose high into his hairline.

Jim smirked. "See?"

Gary, by now, was already off the biobed and standing by Jim, trying to peer over Bones's shoulder to look at the tricorder as well. He grinned when Bones looked up, finding him within breathing distance. Bones rolled his eyes, muttered something about idiots coming in pairs and inched away to examine Jim's left side. Jim sat back, his elbows propping him up on the biobed as Bones did that poking poke shit doctors seemed to like to do.

"Geez, Kirk," Gary whistled as he spied the hand sized patch of mottled tan and white skin just under his right arm. Jim tensed. He muttered "cold hands" to Bones when Bones glanced up with a furrowed brow and looked at Gary with a smirk.

Gary looked almost like he wanted to touch it, but the scrapes had long since stopped feeling like the earth on Tarsus; gritty, grainy, dried up useless hot sand with a sea of shriveledhusks of dead crops sticking up like thin, sickly tombstones. It looked like a cemetery for four thousand colonists.

"Sand," Jim quipped and he wished Bones wouldn't look at him like Jim was his tricorder. "Nice to lie on, but not nice to be dragged across." Jim cringed inwardly at Gary's second whistle.

"Whoa. Bike?"

_Genocide_, Jim thought, his throat tightening. He could still hear his aunt begging him not to stay with her, "I love you, my Jimmy", "You'll be all right", as Kodos's men dragged him screaming (crying) out of her arms, out of the gas chambers with the other aunts and uncles and mothers and fathers. He'd left fingernails in the dirt as guards pulled him by his legs across the yard to be with the other chosen ones. When he first arrived, he had first thought she was his punishment for ditching a car in a quarry. But it then turned out later that being sent back home (Earth) as one of the few survivors was the real punishment.

"I change my mind," Gary breathed as he shook his head. His hand reached across, then snatched back. Gary rubbed his palm on his uniform. "I don't think I want to get a bike anymore, Kirk."

Jim scoffed, did _not_ look at Bones, who stared at him unwaveringly and waved a hand at his roommate.

"Just don't ride it naked," Jim scoffed with a toothy grin.

For some reason, Gary was the only one who threw his head back and laughed.

* * *

**II. Checkmate**

"Interesting."

Jim snickered. "I get that a lot." He flashed Nyota Uhura a grin and she responded with an eye roll. It was their thing.

Spock, who would find even a loose eyelash interesting, stared at Jim's right hand that held the bishop midway from capturing his rook.

"Oh no, that's not going to work," Jim quipped as he set his bishop down. He sat back in his seat and folded his arms as he savored his long fought "Check."

Spock's eyebrows rose even as Bones and Uhura leaned in closer and eyed the bishop.

"Holy shit," Bones muttered. He gave Jim a look of amazement. Jim wanted to grin but he matched Spock's...Vulcanness and tried for an impassive look that he suspected looked more bored or constipated.

"I was not referring to the bishop," Spock explained, though he still considered the piece with an arched eyebrow. "I was referring to the bone misalignment in your hand."

"My what?" Jim's smile faded and next to him, Bones's chair scraped as he sat back down next to him again, close enough their shoulders touched.

"Your metacarpal bones of your index, third and fourth finger have a slight indent half a centimeter to the metacarpophalangeal joints and turned inward a very small degree."

Jim curled his hand casually around his mug and made sure he drank slowly and not choke on the phantom sensation of Dad's antique replica bat from the Chicago Cubs' World Series win of 2219 slamming down on his fingers. He swallowed back a fourteen-years-old urge to vomit, because he _did_ throw up back then because the crunching sound of his own hand was...unpleasant.

"Oh," Jim drawled carefully. "Dog. Big, big, dog on the farm I grew up in. I wanted to be a lion tamer, like in those books so I stuck my hand in him and..." Jim shrugged. "Broke every finger in my hand and small town hospitals don't have the newest regenerators." That part was true, at least.

To his relief, Spock accepted that explanation.

Then promptly checkmated him.

Dammit.

"Thanks for dinner, Captain," Uhura said, singsong, as she rose elegantly up from the table and sashayed out of Mess behind Spock.

Jim stared at Uhura's...departure. He shook his head and gathered up the pieces. Maybe tomorrow.

"So close," Jim mourned. "I—What?" Jim asked when he caught Bones studying him.

Bones blinked, shrugged and started cleaning up their trays. He made a point to leave behind the plate of sandwiches Jim never quite finished after Spock cornered his knight in the tenth move.

Jim's skin itched and he fought back the urge to squirm. He narrowed his eyes because Bones had looked at him like this during the Academy as well.

"What?" Jim bit out.

Bones stood with both their trays stacked in his hands. His jaw worked and for some reason, his eyes looked sad, weary.

"You don't have a dog," Bones said quietly. "You never did.You're allergic, remember?" He turned around and headed for the recycler before Jim could say anything.

* * *

**I. Party Pooper**

"I find your markings fascinating."

Well, like he's never heard _that_ one before. Jim smiled as he turned. The Deltan ambassador stood there, his almond shaped silver eyes crinkling as they considered Jim's face.

"My markings?" Jim kept smiling because the ambassador wasn't ugly looking. Even the bald scalp did nothing to deter from the ambassador's lithe build, broad shoulders and firm mouth. Curiosity (he's only heard of but never met a Deltan) kept Jim where he was, backed up against the corner he was resting against in the ballroom. The alcove away from the starbase's ballroom was a quiet space amidst the thousands of intergalactic dignitaries all wanting to meet the flagship crew of the _Enterprise, _which was currently docked for repairs (damn Klingons).

The Deltan reached over and traced what Jim _thought_ was invisible to the naked eye: a line that followed his jawline from his right ear to his chin.

"Oh." Jim's smile pulled thin. "That."

"I have upset you." The ambassador bowed his head and his robes parted to reveal a strong line of limbs wrapped in cotton white.

Jim shook his head and he took a long sip of some planet's attempt at champagne. Gross. There were times Jim wished for plain, boring beer and bourbo—no, no, _Bones_ drinks that stuff, not him.

"You didn't upset me," Jim assured the ambassador. "I'd forgotten it was there. It...was froma minor thing that happened when I was a child." Jim shrugged carefully (he couldn't remember from his Xeno-Cultural classes if such a gesture was understood). "I barely remember it."

In truth, Jim didn't remember it at all, just that it was the first time he had actually fought back. There were fists, some shouting that felt like the house was being torn apart by a hurricane, a flash of something heavy and suddenly he woke up a week later in the hospital, a nurse promising it was okay, his _father_ will be here soon.

As soon as he was discharged, Jim took everything he had, packed it in his bike and left. He'd never looked back since.

The Deltan followed the line along his jaw with a small smile and a soft stroke with his finger. Jim blinked up at him curiously and wondered how pissed Pike would be if they left the party so Jim could drown his memories by making new, meaningless, sweaty ones.

"I would very much like to see your other markings if you have them," the Deltan purred.

Such an invitation should stir something in his gut but right now, all Jim could do is chuckle wanly and murmur, "I bet you do."

"Captain."

Jim started and he turned to his right. Bones stood there, still oddly stiff and still _very_ unhappy in his dress uniform.

"Captain," Bones repeated tightly. "There is something I need to discuss with you in regards to the medical situation with the _Enterprise_."

Jim's brow knitted together. "Bones, what..." He saw Bones's eyes flit over to the ambassador and back. Jim sighed to himself. Bones was probably right; sleeping with a Deltan was probably not a good idea if the stories around the Academy were true.

The ambassador appeared disappointed but luckily gracious when Jim excused himself. He followed Bones out the ballroom, fully expecting Bones to steer them to a bar but instead, as they wound the corridors and turbolifts and accessways, Jim realized they were in fact, heading back to the _Enterprise_. But before Jim could say anything, Bones latched onto a piece of his sleeve and stunned, Jim found himself being dragged back to his quarters.

Jim dug his heels in at front of his door and Bones finally let go.

"Okay, what gives?" Jim demanded. His voice sounded oddly loud in the dim, empty hallways. Everyone was either at the ballroom or released for shore leave as his ship was being repaired.

Bones faced the door, his shoulders stiff. He took a deep breath and pivoted around.

Jim stared at the dark eyes latched onto his face and his mouth went dry when Bones took a step, invading, filling his personal space.

A hand reached around and ghosted over his right shoulder, trailing over his dress uniform, down to the small of his back.

"That," Bones said in almost a growl, "was _not_ 'from the other guy'." He wrapped an arm around Jim's middle and pulled him close. Jim swallowed, his hands went up and were pinned between their bodies. He could feel Bones breathing harshly under his hands as Bones slipped a warm palm under his tunic.

"Bones," Jim choked out as Bones smoothed fingers under his arm, under the sand branded skin.

"This wasn't from a motorbike," Bones whispered. He took Jim's right hand and kissed the indents there. "There was no dog." Bones looked up into Jim's startled eyes, suddenly looking uncertain, a little freaked.

"Was there, Jim?" Bones whispered as he swiped his tongue across his lower lip, his hips pressing against Jim.

Jim could feel Bones's question hammering in his chest, a need rubbing against his matching one. Jim's lips trembled just a touch when he leaned in and brushed them across Bones's mouth.

"I wish there were," Jim whispered, his voice cracking.

Bones kissed Jim's hand again, lingering on the imperfections on his fingers before he wordlessly pulled Jim into his quarters.

They didn't talk about Jim's scars again the whole night.

* * *

**0. Tell Me A Story**

Waking up to the stars drifting by his window was good.

"'Morning," Bones said gruffly before he grazed his lips down Jim's exposed spine, lingering on the dimples that marked the cleft of his ass.

Waking up to Bones was _better_.

Jim yawned and rubbed gritty eyes with a knuckle before dropping back to rest his face against his arms. He had fallen asleep on his stomach again, on the wet spot, but he was again sore in the right places, boneless for the right reasons so everything else didn't matter.

"Mm, I love this…" Bones nipped his left buttock cheek and chuckled when Jim squirmed. "Oh, I like this one, too," Bones rumbled and nipped the other one and Jim barked out a laugh.

"Nice to know you're equal opportunity," Jim snickered. He hummed as he felt Bones straddle the back of his thighs. He stilled when he felt not Bones's cock, but his hand hovering at the bottom curve of his left buttock.

"You have a few deep ones here," Bones noted. His thumb followed each one but before Jim could tell him to stop, Bones pressed open-mouthed kisses over each jagged white line of memory. Bones curled his hands on Jim's thighs and massaged the thick muscles carefully with his thumbs.

"Can you tell me about them?" Bones asked, his voice still soft, like it was a dream they both live in, surreal and separate from the pain that had shaped them both.

Jim swallowed and stared at the window beyond his bed. The stars glided by, taking him further and further away.

Bones settled his body halfway over Jim's back, like a shield. He brushed his lips over Jim's shoulder and neck.

"It's okay," Bones whispered as his hand stroked Jim's hair and it was then Jim realized he was shaking. "Sh...Never mind. If you don't want to tell me..."

Jim rolled to his side until he was facing Bones. Bones stared at him silently before he pulled Jim to him, a leg tucked between Jim's, his heart beating _it'sokayit'sokay_ against Jim's ear.

"He..." Jim cleared his throat, blinked hard and took a deep breath.

"His name was Frank..."

* * *

The End


End file.
